


Spock's Revenge

by Gyptian



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 06:58:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gyptian/pseuds/Gyptian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk had no clue anything was wrong until his best friend stormed into the mess hall, red-faced, and waved a PADD in the face of his other best friend, who had been eating a Vulcan variation on crackers with lettuce across from him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spock's Revenge

Kirk had no clue anything was wrong until his best friend stormed into the mess hall, red-faced, and waved a PADD in the face of his other best friend, who had been eating a Vulcan variation on crackers with lettuce across from him.

 

“What are you trying to pull here?” McCoy demanded. “I told you, there is no getting out of your psych eval.” The report PADD was slammed onto the table, upsetting Kirk's burger. He liked to eat things that made Spock resist the temptation to wrinkle his nose.

 

“I did not make any attempt to avoid it,” Spock told the Doctor.

 

“Are you bullshitting me?” McCoy planted himself in the seat by Spock's side, the better to lean into his personal space. One fist slammed on the table, dangerously close to the PADD. Kirk slid it over to the safe side of the table.

 

“I followed your exact instructions.”

 

“ _How_ is this keeping a personal journal?” McCoy asked, waving his hands in the air to indicate the spirit of the report.

 

“I kept a record of my mental state throughout the week, and did not repeat information from one day to the next.”

 

“No, you did that last year,” muttered McCoy.

 

“Nor did I hand in an extract from my personal log, despite the efficiency of that method.”

 

The Doctor leaned forward. “No, exactly, because I can read your personal log. I want you to reflect on something you normally wouldn't, because you and your fellow workaholic over here only ever talk about work even in your personal log.”

 

“It is logical to speak of work when that occupies the chief part of our waking hours.”

 

McCoy cursed Spock out, who raised an eyebrow. Kirk, who had grown more and more curious over the course of their argument, tried to sneakily activate the screen on the PADD. _Journaling section of psychological evaluation of Commander Spock, First Officer and Science Officer of the starship USS Enterprise. Stardate 2261.10.15, 0000 ship standard time. My mental health is sufficient. Stardate 2261.10.15, 0001 ship standard time. My mental health is sufficient. Stardate 2261.10.15, 0002 ship standard time. My mental health is sufficient._

 

When he scrolled further down, now ignoring the bickering McCoy and Spock, he read _Stardate 2261.10.19, 0926 ship standard time. My status remains unchanged._ Towards the end of the document, _Stardate 2261.10.21, 2221 ship standard time. No data indicates that my mental health has suffered. Stardate 2261.10.21, 2222 ship standard time. No data indicates that my mental health has suffered. Stardate 2261.10.21, 2223 ship standard time. No data indicates that my mental health has suffered._

 

Kirk put the PADD down, unnoticed. Spock and McCoy had been joined in the discussion by Chekov and Sulu, who had seated themselves at the next table. “How is it logical that you typed out a sentence for every single minute of the past week?” McCoy wanted to know. His pallour had returned to normal and he was only hunched over and frowning now.

 

Spock, however, had straightened up and was favouring the Doctor with the same eyebrow raise he used on Kirk when he proposed a particularly risky plan. “It would not, be, Doctor. But writing a simple algorithm that wrote out my status for each minute, with time and date as the only variables took 0.47 minutes. It required seven different sentences as input, and resulted in the report you just shook at me as if it was one of your rattles. _That_ was efficient.”

 

McCoy rubbed one hand over his face. “Why, Spock, when I want you to record honestly how you are doing, do you deny me such a simple request,” he asked softly.

 

Spock's response was equally gentle. “Doctor, we have had long debates on the efficacy of Vulcan meditation. I believe we are in similar disagreement over the need of human-centric psychological evaluations, though our roles would be reversed.” The Doctor nodded, but then Spock added, “I evaluate myself daily, Doctor, and will inform you of any aberrations.”

 

It mollified McCoy, because he rose, put a hand on Spock's shoulder and told him, “I'll hold you to that.”

 

Chekov, who had hold of the PADD now, added, “Making report like that ees very simple programming job. I show you!” Only to earn himself a venomous glare from the Doctor, who snatched the PADD out of his hands and left the mess hall muttering over the sanctity of his medical calling, with not a glance at Kirk.

 

Spock returned to his crackers, but Kirk couldn't help whispering, “Didn't know you had it in you, Spock, pulling a practical joke for the third year in a row. I only held out two years.”

 

“It was an educational exercise, Captain. I did, after all, do what the Doctor demanded of me.” He picked up his tray, and Kirk followed him to the galley to deposit their dirty plates.

 

“And what did Bones demand, exactly?” Kirk asked when they were safely in the turbolift.

 

“That I complete the journaling portion of my annual psychological evaluation like a good little computer.” Spock enunciated each word to perfection. An elocution tutor would have wept for joy. “I assured him that I would.” And because he was deeply evil, he added just before the turbolift opened onto the bridge, “My tricorder fit the Doctor's specifications.”

 

It was not unusual for the Captain to start shift with a constipated look on his face. The ensigns at the helm even forgave him the strange gurgle he let out before he gave orders for a course correction.


End file.
